


Colors

by philippcarlyle



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, actor!Phillip, barman!Phineas, i suck at summaries, phillip drinks but what is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philippcarlyle/pseuds/philippcarlyle
Summary: [...]“Sorry. Nah, maybe not. I mean, I am glad you are here, always, you know that. But I don’t support your coping mechanism.”“I know. I don’t either but what can I do. There’s this nice fellow I can talk to when I feel down, might as well have a drink along with it.”Phil and P.T. meet at a bar. Conversations and a fluffy ending emerge.





	Colors

**Author's Note:**

> Ay, welcome to my first fanfic whatsoever.  
> Just have some short input - this is my first work on this website, I am super excited and hope you enjoy it!  
> Barlyle made me do it.
> 
> Title inspired by Halsey - "Colors"
> 
> (if someone feels the need to point it out while reading, I know I spell Philip with just one "l" but I decided to stick to it)

Another rejection. Philip makes his way down the street, not caring about his tousled hair and the wrinkles in his shirt. He opens the door to the small but cosy bar. Rich smells of various liquors and fresh fruit fill the room and welcome Philip inside. He slips off his jacket, puts it careless on a bar stool and sits on the next one.

Before he even looks up a familiar voice greets him.

“Wow, you look awful.”

“Thanks.”, he snorts. He knows he looks like shit.

“Gimme a second then I’m all ears for you.”

Philip nods and pulls a little bowl filled with peanuts closer. He doesn’t know why he always ends up here. Correction: he knows why he ends up here, but it confuses him. When he quit college in his postgraduate studies and decided to go into acting, he stopped drinking and going out. He focussed on all the opportunities the showbiz had to offer. But after a while it became tiring, always getting rejected, only the smallest roles here and there, barely getting him through months of costs.

One particular night he stumbled upon this bar, “Barnum’s” and with nothing better to do stopped there for a drink. Or two. He could have gone home, like he often did. Call a friend; visit his parents, things that might cheer him up. But he abandoned most of his friends for this supposed career.  A career which his parents, especially his father weren’t very fond of. So there was that.

In this bar he felt he could finally relax a little and complain about his life to strangers who wouldn’t judge or care. P.T. however, did care. But Philip found he didn’t mind spilling his worries and irritation to the bartender.

“So, what’s upset you, Blue?”

Philip finds himself face to face with P.T. who seems to have served every other costumer for now. He sighs and feels the frustration from earlier immediately coming back, tightening his shoulders and making his jaw hurt.

“Got rejected. Again. It’s like I’m cursed, I swear!” , he huffs.

“I’m sorry to hear that. The one with the circus, was it?” P.T. asks and slides over a glass filled with something reddish, warm. Philip raises an eyebrow. Usually P.T. knows Philip is fond of whiskey.

“Try it. We’re getting closer to Christmas, you ever had mulled wine?” he asks with an expectant grin that is so unique, Philip began to think it was specifically reserved for him. Reluctant he lifts the warm glass and takes a sip. The warm liquid is nice after his walk through the cold New York streets and gives him a strangely homey feeling.

“It’s nice.” , he agrees. “But I’d like my Single Malt too. Pretty please.” He doesn’t know why he is all show-talk and overly flirty once he enters the bar. He is outgoing, of course, but never cheeky. At least not on the streets or with strangers. He was somewhat cocky at college, nothing more.

P.T. doesn’t seem bothered by it, never was, luckily and complies with another smile.

“And yeah, the one with the circus. Do I look like I wouldn’t fit in? I was prepared for like three roles. They didn’t want me for any of it.”, Philip comes back to P.T.s question.

On the one hand he is glad, the barman remembers, what Philip tells him every time he comes here, on the other hand he has to relive his disappointment. Although it’s more acceptable with P.T.

Philip doesn’t know what it is that the bartender and owner has on him that makes Philip feel so at home. Maybe it was the safety of anonymity at the beginning but he is slowly becoming a regular. Not to mention that Mr Phineas T. Barnum is at least fifteen years older than Philip himself. So, maybe as a father figure? God no. No. Philip feels himself blush and drinks some more of the mulled wine. Better not think too hard about this.

“Do you want me to tell you you’d fit into a circus? I mean, you definitely could make it work.”, P.T. laughs. Philip finally smiles too, even if the joke’s on him.

“Thanks. Well I’m not dwelling on it. Tell me about your day.”

“My day was, eh, pretty boring to be honest. I restocked, you are killing all my good stuff.”, he grinned at Philip. “But I got to see the girls for a few hours, best thing this week.”

Philip’s smile tightens. He heard P.T. talking about his two daughters before. They didn’t live with him, after his wife deceased they came to their grandparents. Philip and P.T. talked a whole night about family issues some weeks back.

“That’s good, I’m happy for you.”, Philip answers honestly. Most of his time spent at the bar he sees P.T. smiling, giving everyone a fun time and being all over a clown to get his costumers cheered up. But even he can be sorrowful. Philip doesn’t like that look on him.

“You should meet them some day.” P.T.’s eyes widen, as if he didn’t mean to say that.

Philip is stunned for a second. “Y-Your daughters?”

“They are awesome, and they can act. Could learn some things from them.”, P.T. then jokes.

Philip rolls his eyes, but smirks.

“Yeah, sure. I know parents are somewhat blind when it comes to their own children so you are excused.”

“Excused for what? I am perfectly truthful.”

“Obviously.”, Philip laughs. “If anything, they could learn from me.”

“Hah, and what, my dear Blue? Deal with rejection through drinking?”

Philip stares at him for a moment. And another one.

“Rude.”, he concludes.

“Sorry. Nah, maybe not. I mean, I am glad you are here, always, you know that. But I don’t support your coping mechanism.”

“I know. I don’t either but what can I do. There’s this nice fellow I can talk to when I feel down, might as well have a drink along with it.”

“Awww, you warm my heart. I should take money for being your therapist.”

P.T. winks at him and puts the requested whiskey up next to the mulled wine. The other costumers don’t bother to reach out to the bartender. Those who are regulars or even semi-regulars know by now that once the young gentleman with the striking blue eyes entered the place, Mr Barnum might not be as accessible as usually.

“I don’t drink and therapy-se.”, Philip says.

“Too bad. Maybe another time then?”, P.T. asks and with an innocent look vanishes to quickly take care of his abandoned costumers.

Philip thinks about the last question. Was he just referring to another evening? Maybe Philips next rejection which would end up here? Or was he maybe, just maybe, hinting at spending some time outside this bar? He shakes his head, probably not.

Within the next three hours Philip gets exactly three more drinks before P.T. cuts him off.  They spend the next hour talking, like they do so often. P.T. talks about business, his girls – Helens birthday is coming up, how his week was, that he bought new shoes – complimented by Philip. Philip talks about new job prospects, how he hates his kitchen which isn’t working at all, that he found a new tv show he enjoys.

“It’s nearly two.”

“Oh. You wan’ me out?”

“No. Well yeah, I wanna close, but I don’t want you to go.”

Once again Philip is at a loss for words.

“Well, don’t mind me tagging along.” , he grins and shrugs on his jacket with a confidence he doesn’t really feel. He wants to come with P.T., he does. He is an aspiring actor; shouldn’t he be self-assured and resolute? And he is confident to a degree, talking in the cosy space that is the bar, all to themselves and at ease. Outside of this? Philip feels like the boys in his class at high school that got all jittery when Eva Longoria had some kind of job near their school. He could admire her beauty of course, but he wasn’t hyped then. Now he might be a little bit on edge.

“Sure, follow me.”, he hears way closer than expected. P.T. has made his way around the bar, a long grey coat already hugging his figure. To Philips surprise he pulls a fedora from a hat stand near the door that Philip never registered before. He blinks and stumbles after the older man, who holds open the door for him.

“Uh.”

“Yeah?”, P.T. regards Philip with a piercing gaze. Philip swallows and shrugs his shoulders.

“You sure?”

“Course. I mean- if you want to, we can order some food and as you don’t like your kitchen we could just spend a comfy evening at mine?”

“Morning.”

“Yeah, morning.”, P.T. grins and locks the door behind them. Philip registers that he didn’t say how much he would like that. He chews on his lip and follows P.T., half a step behind him.

“Come up here, don’t wanna lose you.” P.T. gently wraps his hand around Philips wrist and pulls him forward. They go side by side and Philip doesn’t bother to ask how long, because he knows. P.T. told him he lives right around the corner that’s also the reason he doesn’t own a car. Philip thinks about all the little details he knows about the man. He knows the meanings of some of his tattoos – most of them hidden by white, occasionally black or green, sleeves. He knows of his daughters, about his favourite colour – red, and that he once had a partner for his bar “Barnum & Bailey” but they left the business. He knows that Charity Barnum died way too early and that P.T. misses her deeply. He knows T. stands for Taylor.

“Philip? I haven’t thought you are this drunk.” P.T.’s voice gets him back on track. Literally. Philip hurries back to his side, after he nearly wandered off to the road.

“Sorry, got distracted.”

“By what? The city is dead.”, P.T. asks curiously.

“By you.”, it slips out before Philip can think it through. He stares at P.T. A split second the older man doesn’t react at all and Philip imagines the worst. Rejection. He couldn’t deal to be rejected again, for real, by someone he values so much it sometimes keeps him awake. More often than sometimes.

“Oh? Oh well.”

Philip is afraid to look up so he focuses on the street he nearly tumbled onto moments before. Maybe he could’ve got hit by a car. That might be a good solution.

“Hey, you listening?”, P.T. pulls him back to reality once again. And what a reality, Philip wonders, while he registers how close up P.T. got to him once again. He can see the laugh lines that frame deep brown eyes. Some strands of dark hair peek out from under the fedora which suits him disgustingly well. He is taller than him too, Philip likes tall people, he decides. Or he decided it way before today, who knows. Philip knows for sure that right now he doesn’t know anything. For sure.

“Uhm. No. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Philip gives him a cheeky smile. P.T. rolls his eyes, but returns the smile.

“May I try something?”

Philip glances up waiting. They are entirely alone, it really seems like the city is dead. Only a street lamp illuminates them and paints their clothes in warm, muted colours.

He doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods.

P.T. is not like Philip. He doesn’t need to think twice before he leans in, down to Philip. Awfully hopeful, Philip meets him halfway to what might be his most shy, innocent kiss. Just a touch of lips, infinitely soft. The slightest, gentle pressing. Philip feels his soul singing, his heart racing. A hand placed on P.T.s chest, creeping under his coat, tells him, his heart nearly matches his pace.

Philip’s legs get weak and he pushes himself, gets even closer and places another soft kiss onto the others lips. His hand stays over P.T.’s heart, his other one gets picked up by P.T.

They stand in the cold and share the sweetest pecks. To Philip it feels the most intimate he ever was with someone.

After what feels like forever, P.T. leans a bit back, a huge smile on his face. He keeps his one hand linked with Philips and takes a moment to save the sensation. Philip shivers and isn’t too sure whether to blame the cold night or the tingly feeling that fills him from head to toes.

“We can try that again.”, he says when he trusts his voice.

P.T. laughs heartily at that and makes Philip huff amused. For once deciding to be truly bold, Philip stands on his tip toes and presses a final kiss to P.T.’s cheek. Then jaw. Then he stops.

“How far is it to your home?”, he asks. He hadn’t planned to sound so suggestive, but he can’t be bothered to take it back. P.T. doesn’t seem to mind either, as he pulls him along once again.

“Not far, come here.”, quite entangled in each other they take longer than one might take normally, but neither of them cares. It is only a few minutes later that they make it to a white door with “Barnum” written on a mailbox. Philip lets himself be ushered in by P.T.

“Do you still want to order in?”, Philip asks, somewhat cautious now. He would be fine with them spending a comfortable evening and then leaving. If he has to.

“Oh my, I thought I did that already. You are here.”

Philip laughs at that cheesy reply and gets promptly shut up the best way possible.

 


End file.
